Free A Baby's Cry by Cathy Glass Page A

asking me if I had a baby in the house!

Section 20
     
    ‘A baby? Here?’ I said. ‘No, you’ve made a mistake.’ Then Harrison let out a cry from his pram behind me in the hall. ‘Well maybe – sort of. Why?’ I asked, my heart starting to pound.
    The man in his thirties looked at me oddly, which was hardly surprising considering I didn’t appear to know if I owned a baby or not. ‘It’s just that I found this on the pavement outside your house,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be yours.’ He held up a yellow toy duck, which I recognized as Paula’s. She’d put it in Harrison’s pram the day before and it must have fallen out.
    ‘Oh yes, thank you,’ I said, smiling. I felt utterly relieved and a complete idiot. ‘That’s kind of you. I’m looking after a baby temporarily,’ I added, not sure if this made it look better or worse. ‘Thank you so much,’ I flustered.
    ‘You’re welcome,’ he said. He handed me the soft toy, which was only a little dusty from a night on the pavement. ‘I’ve got kids of my own, so I know how precious these toys can be.’
    ‘Thanks again,’ I said gratefully, closing the front door. But I knew that I needed to remember that, although I would be following Cheryl’s advice to be vigilant, not every stranger who came to my house or I passed in the street posed a threat; otherwise I would soon become paranoid.
     
     
    Harrison was restless for the whole of Saturday morning for no obvious reason, as babies can be unsettled sometimes. I fed and changed him, winded him, and tried sitting him in the bouncing cradle, laying him in his pram and walking the house with him in my arms, but he refused to settle. Then I remembered that, following my mother’s advice, when Adrian and Paula had been unsettled as babies I’d put their pram in the garden – not so that I couldn’t hear them cry but because fresh air seemed to settle a fractious baby. I returned Harrison to his pram and then pushed it through the sitting room and out through the open French windows, and parked it on the patio. Almost immediately he stopped crying, placated by the new stimuli from being outside: the sights, sounds and smells of the garden and the feel of the fresh air on his face. I raised the pram hood so that the sun wasn’t directly on him and, while Adrian and Paula played further down the garden, I went indoors and cleared away the breakfast things, which were still on the table at 11.00 a.m. With the windows and French doors open I could hear Harrison if he woke and cried, and Adrian and Paula would also tell me if he woke. But when Harrison did eventually wake he didn’t cry but was content to lie in his pram and be entertained by all the different sensations from being outside. It was a good piece of advice from my mother and I know many mothers today do similar.
    After lunch we went to our local park. It was a pleasant afternoon and I was looking forward to visiting the park more often when Adrian and Paula broke up from school for the summer holidays in two weeks’ time.
     
     
    That night Harrison woke at 2.00 a.m. and then again at 5.30. He settled straightaway after each feed so that I had two three-hour slots of sleep, which was fine for me. I went back to bed at 6.00 and dozed off. When I woke it was nearly nine o’clock and it was to the harmonious sounds of Harrison gurgling contentedly in his cot and Paula and Adrian playing in their bedrooms. All three children kept themselves amused while I showered and dressed. Sundays in our house, as in many households, are more leisurely than weekdays, so we didn’t have breakfast until nearly ten o’clock, with Adrian and Paula still in their nightwear. After breakfast the children washed and dressed while I fed and changed Harrison, and by 12.30 p.m. we were all ready for my parents, who were coming for dinner.
    Harrison was in the bouncing cradle at one end of the kitchen, watching me prepare the vegetables for later, while